


Not Just His Doctor

by chelseawinchester



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Doctor/Patient, F/M, Fluff, Reader Insert, Supernatural AU - Freeform, hospital au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-12
Updated: 2016-12-16
Packaged: 2018-09-08 05:38:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8832493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chelseawinchester/pseuds/chelseawinchester





	1. Not Just His Doctor Part One

You were in the third year of your oncology residency when you met Dean Winchester. He had a cancerous tumor on his spine that was very difficult to operate on, and you were needed for a consult. He was already admitted to the hospital, and his room was quite crowded with you, your attending physician, and the neurosurgeon and his resident. The neurosurgeon had the PET scans, showing a tumor in a part of the spine that a surgeon had to be very, very careful operating in. Granted, a surgeon always has to be careful, but if he made a single wrong move, Dean would be paralyzed.

Surprisingly, Dean was in a pretty good mood, not seeming at all disturbed by the fact that he had a complicated surgery coming up. “So what’s the plan?” Dean asked.

The neurosurgeon laid out his plan, then turned to your attending, who then turned to you to let you speak. “And if for some reason they can’t get all of the tumor, you’ll have to go in for radiation. It gets targeted on the one spot, so it shouldn’t do anything but shrink the tumor. There would be some side effects, but we can talk more about that if it comes down to it. But you have a wonderful surgeon and a great resident; Dr. Owens wouldn’t let her in the operating room if he didn’t think she could handle it. You’re in great hands.” 

Dean looked at you and said, “I sure am.” Then he winked at you. You had to admit, he was incredibly attractive, and you couldn’t help but blush. 

“Well, the surgery is scheduled for tomorrow at 10:00. I’ll have Dr. Taylor do your pre-op around 8. For now, Dr. Y/L/N will speak to you about the nature of the tumor and why it needs to be removed as soon as possible. I know you’ve heard it all, but we just want to give you a quick run-down of it again. I’ll see you tomorrow in the operating room, Mr. Winchester.” Dr. Owens walked out of the room, followed by Dr. Taylor and your attending, Dr. Anderson.

“So Mr. Winchester—”

“Call me Dean.”

“Dean, then. You know this tumor, if we don’t remove it, will metastasize to other parts of your body, correct?” Dean nodded. “That is why it is crucial that it is removed as soon as possible, then treated with radiation if it is not removed entirely.”

“Sweetheart, I already know this. Why don’t you tell me about yourself?”

“I bet you ask all the residents that.”

Dean grinned. “You’re the only one I’m actually curious about.”

You sighed, knowing this wasn’t entirely appropriate, but you gave in anyway. He had a damn spinal tumor, and there were a million ways the surgery could go wrong. “Fine. I’ve wanted to be a doctor since I was ten. I have a brother and a sister, one of whom is a lawyer and the other is a psychiatrist. We’re pretty close. I’m from New York, and will always love big cities. That’s why I was glad I was given such a great opportunity here in Baltimore. Your turn.”

“I have a brother too. His name’s Sammy. He’s also a lawyer, he graduated from Stanford. My mom died when I was young, and my dad a couple years back. I’m from Kansas, but I moved here to Baltimore for a job. Then I found out I had a tumor, and, well, now I’m here.”

“Is your brother coming to see you for your surgery?”

“He’s going to try. I haven’t seen him in a while, so it’d be nice.” Dean looked sad, like he hadn’t seen his brother for a lot longer than he said. You didn’t ask, though, it was none of your business.

All of a sudden, your pager went off. “I have to go, I’ve got another patient to check up on. I’ll see you tomorrow before the surgery.”

“Wait, what’s your name?”

“Dr. Y/L/N.” You smiled, knowing he already knew it.

“You know what I meant.”

“Y/N.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Y/N,” Dean said, winking at you once more before you left the room.

You checked out the page from your attending, seeing that you had another patient you had to go to a consult for. She had breast cancer (it was hereditary) and you felt so sorry for her that she had to go through something because of her genes.

The whole time, through the whole consult, you were thinking about Dean Winchester. He didn’t seem too worried about his tumor and he had no qualms about flirting with you. What scared you is that you flirted back—not to make a sick patient feel better, but because you wanted to. You genuinely enjoyed his company. 

You knew you had to say something; you couldn’t stay on his case. It wasn’t allowed. But you wanted to make sure he would be okay, and you definitely didn’t want to be talked to like a friend of his, who only gets basic information about his condition. _This is so, so wrong_ , you thought to yourself.

“Dr. Y/L/N. Would you care to explain to Mrs. Jones what goes into treatment?” Dr. Anderson didn’t seem too happy with you getting lost in your thoughts.

“Of course.” You proceeded to explain the options that Mrs. Jones had, taking care to have a reassuring tone to your voice. You were always complimented on your bedside manner, one of the most important things to have as an oncologist. Maybe that’s why Dean liked you.

Focus! You couldn’t keep thinking about a patient like that. You tried to focus on the patient in front of you, giving her the news about her condition.

When Mrs. Jones’ consult was over, Dr. Anderson looked at you and asked, “What was that, Y/N?”

You pretended not to know what she was talking about. “I’m sorry, what was what?”

“You know, Y/N. You were thinking about something in there, I called your name twice.”

“I’m sorry, I guess I was just thinking about what I was going to say to Mrs. Jones.”

She was suspicious, but she accepted it. “Okay. Just don’t let it happen again.”

“Of course. Never again.”

Your shift was over, so you went to the grocery store before going home. Once home, you changed into comfortable clothes and stretched out on the couch. You turned on your favorite tv show and relaxed for a while. You didn’t have any work to do at the moment, which was rare. Normally your attending would send something home with you, but today was one of those time she didn’t, allowing you to relax. Naturally, your thoughts shifted to Dean. He was one of the most attractive men you’d ever seen, with emerald green eyes and beautiful freckles. _Dammit Y/N! He’s a freaking patient!_ You tried to focus on your tv show, wanting to avoid thinking of Dean as much as possible.

But you dreamt of him. What it would be like if he wasn’t a patient, if he weren’t off limits. You dreamt that he wasn’t sick, and that you two met like normal people would. You dreamt of a date, you two talking about yourselves instead of his tumor.

You shouldn’t be happy to be dreaming about him—you were his doctor—but he seemed so interested in your background, your story. Genuinely interested. But you couldn’t be.

You woke up early the next day, knowing Dean was going into surgery at 10. You had to get there somewhat early to be there when the surgical resident ran over the plan again before pre-op. As an oncology resident, you had to be there whenever a cancer patient was going to go into surgery.

You and the other resident walked into his room. You saw another man in the room with Dean. “Good morning, Mr. Winchester,” you said.

Dean scowled at you. “Dean,” he corrected.

“This must be the brother you were telling me about.”

“Yep. This is Sam.” Sam shook your hand as well as Dr. Taylor’s.

“It’s nice to meet you two,” Sam said. Wow, incredible genes. One had amazing green eyes, the other mesmerizing hazel eyes. 

“I am going to run over what is going to happen in the next several hours.” The surgical resident ran through the basics of pre-op, the surgery, and post-op. “And if everything goes well, you can be out of here pretty soon.”

“Sounds good. I’m not too worried, I’m sure Dr. Owens will do a great job.”

“He’s a great surgeon, you’ll be just fine,” you agreed.

After Dr. Taylor took care of Dean’s pre-op, you and she started to leave his room when Dean said, “Y/N—”

“Dr. Y/L/N.”

“—can you stay behind for a moment? I’d like to talk to you about after-surgery care.”

“Of course.” Dean gestured for Sam to leave, and you sat down as he and Dr. Taylor left the room. “What do you want to know?”

“Well, you said you’ve been a doctor since you were ten. Why?”

You rolled your eyes, wondering why you were surprised. “Really, Dean?”

He crossed his arms. “Why did you want to be a doctor?”

You were pretty sure he wasn’t going to let up on it, so you told him. “My brother got sick—really sick. We thought he was going to die. He had this infection—I can’t remember what it was, I was too worried about him—but I remember I loved walking around the halls of the hospital and wanted to play with all of the machines and I wanted scrubs and the white coat and everything; my parents all but tied me to a chair to keep me from touching all the buttons on all of the machines. I knew it was an awful time, but looking at all of the equipment made me feel better. I became interested in oncology when a friend of mine got cancer—she got radiation, and she was… well, not fine, but she went into remission. So she knew it could come back, but it was gone for a while. I wanted to help people like her. When I went to med school, I considered a different specialty after my first year, but when I didn’t really see a whole lot in clerkships that I liked, I chose oncology.” You realized Dean was staring at you intently. He really wanted to know this, wanted to know why you were there with him. “I’m talking too much.”

“No, not at all. I asked. I wanted to hear what you had to say.”

“I need to check on my other patients.”

You got to the door when Dean asked, “Will you be there when I get out of surgery?”

“I’ll stop by, how’s that?”

Dean smiled. “Okay.”

During Dean’s surgery, you found yourself asking people close to the operation about how Dean was doing. Each time he was fine, the surgery was going well. He was your patient, you had a right to ask, right? You kept telling yourself that was why you were asking. Nothing else. Just concern for your patient.

You checked on Sam a few times, making sure he was okay. He always said he was, but you could tell he was worried. His hazel eyes gave it away, he knew this was serious; he was more tense about the situation than Dean was.

At some point, Sam asked you about the fact that Dean had taken a liking to you. “He told me about you when I called to tell him I was flying out.”

“It does seem like it,” you conceded. “I don’t know him, but it might just be an ‘I’m gonna flirt with my doctor because I’m actually really concerned about my surgery’ kind of thing.”

“That is something he would do, but the way he was looking at you—it was like he wanted to sit down and have a full conversation with you. About you. I’ve known my brother a long time, I would know.”

You smiled to yourself. There you were, just little old you, being crushed on by Dean Winchester, an incredibly attractive, kind… patient. A freaking patient. You shouldn’t be blushing at the fact that Dean had a crush on you.

Dean was out of surgery a few hours later. You talked to the neurosurgeon before going up to check on him… as his doctor, you told yourself. “We got all of the tumor. He shouldn’t need radiation, but that’s yours and your attending’s call. We’ll do another PET scan in two weeks to make sure the thing didn’t metastasize before surgery. But so far, everything looks good. He’s going to wake up soon, and I’ll go speak to him.”

You nodded and went to the doctor’s lounge, needing a break. You had been checking on patients in between your trips downstairs, making sure not to get yelled at by Dr. Anderson. She would have been pissed if she found out you were spending so much time asking about a single patient.

After an hour, you stopped by Dean’s room. The surgeon was just leaving, so you walked right in. Dean’s smile grew when you walked into the room, happy that you kept your promise. “How are you feeling?” you asked.

“I’m great. No more cancer.”

“I heard. You know that means I’m no longer your doctor, right? I can’t keep stopping by here.”

“That’s bad and good. It’s bad because I don’t get to see you while I’m stuck here for the next few days. But it’s good because I can actually ask you out when I leave.”

You saw Sam grin; he was right. You gave Dean a smile and returned to business. “You know you have to come back for a PET scan in two weeks, right?”

“Yes, ma’am. Two weeks.”

You laughed. “I’ll see you when you’re discharged.” You returned to work, excited for Dean to be discharged.


	2. Not Just His Doctor: Part Two

He was discharged five days later, when the doctors were 100% sure that nothing would go wrong at home. The second he was out of the hospital, he asked you on a date. “Yes, Dean, I would love to.”

“Are you working tomorrow?”

“I get off at 7.”

“I’ll come pick you up.”

“Dean, you shouldn’t be driving. You just had major spinal surgery. I’ll come get you, okay?”

“You don’t know where I live.”

“I’ll get it from your file.”

“Here’s my number, if plans change.” He handed you a slip of paper.

“Thanks. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“See you tomorrow.” Dean smiled at you and got in the car, and he and Sam drove away. 

Your excitement was bubbling over by the next day; you were constantly looking at the clock, waiting for it to be 7:00. You had already looked at Dean’s file, and you wrote down his address. After that, you worked until it was time, trying to make the time go by faster.

When you got off of work, you quickly went home, changed, refreshed your makeup, and drove to Dean’s house. You noticed an old Impala in the driveway. It was a shame he wasn’t driving, you’d love to ride in that car. You rang the bell and took a deep breath, nervous. But when he answered the door with a smile, your nerves settled. That smile was so beautiful, and paired with his eyes, you relaxed instantly. “Hi, Dean. You’re taller that I imagined.” At your 5’4, he towered over you. Every time you had seen him previously, he had been in bed or in a wheelchair, so you didn’t see his height. You knew Sam was tall, even taller than Dean, but you had to admit, you didn’t think they’d both be giants.

Dean chuckled, then said, “Come on in, I just need to finish getting ready.”

You sat on the couch, across from Sam. He simply said, “I told you so,” like a five year old and didn’t say another word until you and Dean were ready to leave. “You two have fun, alright?”

“Dude. Don’t,” Dean told his brother, and you walked out to your car. You drove to a restaurant on the other side of town—it was your favorite. You didn’t have much time (or money) to go, so you seized this opportunity to eat there. 

Throughout dinner, Dean kept asking about you, your life, and your job. You barely got to ask about him, but when you did, you found out that he worked as a mechanic before the tumor. He moved to Baltimore because an old friend of his offered him the job and he wanted an excuse to move away from home after his dad died. He was considering college for a while, but that didn’t exactly come to fruition. He and Sam were always close, but they didn’t speak for a while when Sam went to college. Dean was hoping he’d stay in Kansas so he’d be close to home, but Sam wanted to “go his own way.”

You told Dean about your parents. They were both professors at Columbia; your mom taught English and your dad taught math. “Smart family,” Dean commented.

“I suppose we are.” You smiled to yourself, proud of your genes. They weren’t genes that you saw, like Sam and Dean, but they got you through your undergrad easily and med school pretty well. 

“What are your siblings like? You said you were really close to them.”

The rest of the night continued like that. He wound up paying for the meal, even though you offered about twenty times. You drove him home, and the Q&A continued.

You walked him up to the door. “Thank you for a great night,” you said.

“It was my pleasure.” He leaned in to kiss you, and you went up on the balls of your feet to meet his lips. It was a chaste kiss, but it left you wanting so much more. He broke away and asked, “When can I see you again?”

“I can come over tomorrow after work. If you want to actually go out, we can, or we can stay in. Whichever you want.”

“Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Bye,” you said quietly, and walked back to your car, giddy about the date. You learned a little about him and him about you. Most of all, you enjoyed his company. You didn’t really care if you were eating at a fancy restaurant or if you ordered pizza and watched some stupid movie; you just wanted to be with him.

The next day, you went to work, walking around the hospital as if you were walking on a cloud. The second your fellow oncology resident, Dr. Allen, saw you, he asked, “What’s up with you?”

“I’m just happy. Is that okay with you?”

“You just never seem so… cheerful. Did you go out with that patient of yours?”

“First of all, he’s not my patient anymore. Second, who the hell told you?”

“Dr. Taylor, the surgical resident. She said he winked at you the first day he was here and you blushed. Then you stayed behind to talk to him, and she heard him asking about you instead of the operation. She also said you went to check up on him after his surgery.”

“Okay, so what if he winked at me? And I stayed behind so I could talk about his surgery, but when he asked about me, I decided to humor him and talk about myself when he asked. It was simply having a good bedside manner. And as for me checking on him, as his doctor I needed to make sure he was doing well after having major surgery.”

Dr. Allen paused. “You didn’t deny it.”

“What are you, twelve?” You stormed off, partially worried your attending would find out. She was a bit of a hard-ass, and you knew that she would find a way to punish you if she found out you flirted with him before he left. You prayed that Dr. Allen wouldn’t tell her.

Dr. Anderson sat down with you at lunch. _Shit_ , you thought to yourself. “Dr. Anderson, can I help you?” you said, overly sweet, trying to convey innocence.

“You can. Dr. Allen told me went on a date with Dean Winchester?”

“He’s not my patient, I can date who I want.”

“I’m aware, I’m just trying to make sure there was no inappropriate conduct before he was discharged.”

“None at all, Dr. Anderson.”

She didn’t believe you, you could tell that much. She just glared at you, grabbed her lunch, and walked off. _Thank God_. You did not want to deal with her yelling at you today. You were in too good a mood and you did not want some bitchy attending ruining that.

You went through the rest of the day without interruption; you got off at six, so you went home, changed into something that would be appropriate for both an actual date or pizza and a movie, and headed toward Dean’s house. There was a grin on your face the whole drive over, you couldn’t help it. You were just too damn excited to see him again.

Sam answered the door this time. “Come on in,” he invited. “Dean’s gonna be right out.”

You found a spot on the couch, not getting too comfortable, but not sitting awkwardly. You looked around the living room, seeing pictures of him, Sam, his mom, and his Dad. Dean looked about six years old; Sam was a toddler. There weren’t any pictures of all four of them when he was older than that, so you assumed his mother died sometime around then. There were also pictures of him and Sam when they were teenagers; important times such as when they graduated high school. You loved looking at the pictures. Dean had been so focused on learning about you, and you barely had the opportunity to learn anything about him. But these pictures told you a little bit more about him, about his family.

“Hey, Y/N,” Dean said when he saw you. He was wearing a t-shirt and sweatpants; clearly you weren’t going out, not that you were going to complain. Dean stretched out on the couch next to you, putting his feet up on the coffee table. He was relaxed around you, and you liked that. You put your purse on the floor and leaned back on the couch, getting comfortable. 

“So what are we watching?” you asked.

“I was going to let you decide, if that’s okay.”

You decided on a James Bond movie—it was one of your favorite series, both of your parents loved it and you had watched every one multiple times. Just before you started it, the doorbell rang.

“I’ll get it,” Dean said, getting off the couch. He came back with pizza and set it down on the coffee table. “I forgot to ask what kind you liked.”

“Honestly, I’m okay with anything,” you answered. It was meat lover’s; sausage, pepperoni, and Canadian bacon. You ate a couple slices, then Dean ate the rest. As you ate, you started the movie. Dean pulled you into him; you snuggled into his chest. You were incredibly comfortable with his warm arms wrapped round you.

About three-quarters of the way through the movie, Dean got really into it, and you sat up a bit to watch him watch the movie; you enjoyed every minute of it. At the end, Dean looked at you and noticed you were staring at him. “What?”

“Nothing, I just liked that you enjoyed that so much.”

“Are you kidding? I love James Bond.” You smiled at him, and he was now staring at you. “You are really beautiful.”

“I—uh, thank you.” You never knew how to take a compliment, and you felt your cheeks burning; you looked down so he wouldn’t see you blush.

“Hey,” Dean said, lifting your chin up with his finger. “I didn’t say that so you’d look down.” He kissed you, softly at first, then it became more passionate. His tongue swept through your mouth, and you climbed onto his lap. Your lips moved together perfectly, as if you two were made for each other.

“Ahem,” Sam coughed. Dean rolled you off of his lap and looked back at Sam.

“Hey, Sammy. Can we help you?”

“Just…” He sighed, running his hand through his hair. “If you’re going to be… you know, then please go up to your room. I’d like to be able to come down here.”

“Dude, it’s my house.”

“Yeah, and if I weren’t here, you wouldn’t be able to go anywhere.”

Dean shrugged his shoulders. “Y/N, do you want to stay?”

“I’d love to, but I have an early day tomorrow, and I would need fresh clothes.”

“Okay. Maybe I can get Sam to take me to the hospital tomorrow so I can see you.” Dean grinned.

“Don’t you have some rehabilitation for your back?”

“Yep. At the hospital.”

You rolled your eyes, laughing. “Of course you do.”

Dean walked you to the door and kissed you before you left. “See you tomorrow, then.”

“See you tomorrow,” you said. 

You went home and went to bed immediately, needing to be at work very early tomorrow to get a few things done. You weren’t sure your attending would like Dean visiting you, but as you said earlier, you could date whoever you wanted now that he wasn’t your patient. But you still stressed about it as you fell asleep; you couldn’t get it out of your mind. It made falling asleep much harder, and you didn’t until a little after midnight when you had to get up at 5:00 in the morning. 

Your alarm went off at 5, and you groaned. You were used to getting only 5 hours of sleep during med school, but for the last three years, you got a good seven every night. You rolled out of bed—quite literally, you nearly fell on the floor. After a shower and some breakfast, and after you put on some clothes, you went in to work. You didn’t live that far away, so you were able to get there around 6:15. You were supposed to see a patient really early that morning; he usually woke up around 6:30 and fell back asleep soon after that, and he got mean when the nurses woke him up. So that meant the nurses asked you to come in nice and early to talk to him.

“How are you doing this morning, Mr. Jefferson?” you asked when you walked into his room.

“I’m just fine, just like I was yesterday and two days before that.” 

“So there’s nothing new to be concerned about?”

“No, nothing.”

Alrighty then. “Well, I just wanted to check on you, Mr. Jefferson. If you’re doing well, then I’ll go. I’ll be back in a few days, alright?”

“Sure.”

He was always in a bad mood, but he had a good reason. He had small-cell lung cancer, and he didn’t have much longer. He did not have any family left, and you felt very sorry for him; it’s why you never let his rudeness get to you. Someone had to be nice to him, and you figured it might as well be you.

You didn’t have much to do most of the day; you saw a few patients and did some paperwork. You ate your lunch, saw another patient, and did more paperwork.

Dean came to see you around 2. You were in your attending’s office when he knocked on the door. Your attending answered it and glared at you when Dean asked for you. You gave her a sheepish grin and went to meet Dean.

You gave him a hug and asked, “How are you?”

“I’m good, glad to see you. Sam’s in the waiting room, he’ll kill me if I take too long.”  
“That’s unfortunate. I really wanted to see you for longer than five minutes. But I don’t want Sam to kill you, so I guess I have to let you go to your rehab.”

You stood on your toes to kiss him; it wasn’t a really deep kiss, but it was enough for people to look at you two. “I’ll see you soon, okay?” Dean said.

“Yeah. Okay.” Dean walked toward the elevator, pressed the button, and when the door opened, he turned and winked at you before he got on. The doors closed and, from behind you, your attending said, “Y/N. Can I speak to you?” _Fuck_. “Now I understand that you’re and adult and that you can make your own choices, but do you really think it’s appropriate to be kissing a former patient of yours in the hallway?”

“Look, he’s not my patient anymore. Therefore, I can do what I want to do as far as dating goes. If I want to go out with him, I will. I would never consider it if he were still my patient, trust me.”

“I just want to make sure this isn’t pity-dating, that you didn’t decide to go out with him while he was still sick and you’re dating him because you feel bad for saying yes.”

“No, not at all. Sure, I talked with him once before his surgery because he asked me to, but I didn’t go back to talk to him after his surgery because I pitied him. I went back because I wanted to. When he asked me out, it was when he was discharged, and I said yes because I enjoyed his company. And I don’t appreciate you implying that I am dating him out of pity. I would never do that. Ever.” You stormed out of the office, pissed and upset that someone would ever think that of you. You did not pity Dean. Besides, he had no reason to be pitied anymore. Hell, he didn’t have much of a reason to be pitied in the first place; he was never a typical sick person, he was always in good spirits. He just seemed like a person in a hospital bed. The carcinoma affected him a little bit, but you could barely see it through his “tough guy” façade. You knew he was sick, but you knew he was not to be pitied, not like other patients. He didn’t want it.

You were walking toward the doctor’s lounge when you ran into Dr. Allen. “Whoa, whoa, what’s up with you?”

“Nothing,” you said curtly.

“Y/N.”

“I’m just pissed off at Anderson, okay?”

“What did she do now?” Dr. Allen hated her lousy temperament as much as you did; he got in trouble with her quite a bit for no reason at all.

“She accused me of going out with Dean because I pitied him. She said that I agreed when he was still sick and that I now have to keep going out with him because I feel sorry for him. She’s just pissing me off right now.”

“Well now I feel like shit for being an ass about it yesterday. Seriously, I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine, at least you’re not accusing me of pity-dating.”

“Yeah, but still.”

“Thanks,” you said, and continued walking to the doctor’s lounge. You collapsed onto a couch there, just staring at the ceiling. You didn’t do any work, you just laid there. You were there for at least an hour, not doing anything. Your shift was almost over, but you didn’t want to do anything but lay on that couch in the lounge. 

A knock on the door made you finally get up. “Dean?” you asked when you opened the door.

“My rehab session is over, I thought I’d say hi again before I left. Sam isn’t happy, but oh well.”

“I’m glad you stopped by. I’ve been pissed off for an hour and a half because my attending has it in her head that I’m dating you out of pity when there’s absolutely no reason to pity you. I hate that she would even think that. I would _never_ do that.”

“Hey, it’s okay. I know you’re not going out with me because you pity me, especially because you reacted the way you did.”

“Good,” you said quietly. “I’m off work, do you want to come to my place?”

“Yeah, I’ll just let Sammy know. Be right back.”  
______

You lived in a small (tiny, really) apartment not too far from the hospital. You were lucky; you got a good enough deal to not have to share the space with a roommate. There were two small rooms and a bathroom off the hallway from the living room. Being a resident didn’t pay quite enough to get a good size apartment in Baltimore. A good portion of your paycheck went to rent and another to student loans, which left you with just enough money for food.

“Nice place,” Dean said.

“Ha! You live in an actual house. This is crappy compared to that.”  
“Well, I kind of got the house from one of my parents’ old friends. I don’t have to pay much to live there.”

“Lucky,” you muttered under your breath. “I’m just gonna go put in something a bit more comfortable, I’ll be out in a minute.” You picked out some decent-looking yoga pants and a comfortable t-shirt. You didn’t want to put on pajamas, but you didn’t want to wear jeans.

Dean was sitting on the couch, already looking comfortable in your home. You smiled to yourself before walking out to sit with him. “You know, you know a lot about me. I only know what you told me at dinner the other night.”

“What do you want to know?”

“What were your parents like?”

Dean looked taken aback at the question, probably not expecting to hear that question yet. “My mom… she was beautiful. And kind. She died when I was very young, but I still remember her singing Hey Jude to me as I fell asleep. I didn’t really get a chance to know her, but I still miss her. My dad was torn apart when she died. He loved her so much. He drank a bit, but he took care of me and Sammy pretty well; there were times I had to take care of him, though. Dad died just after Sam graduated from Stanford. I was glad he was there to see it. Sam deserved to have Dad at graduation, he worked so hard. Dad was a mechanic, which is where I learned how to do it. I got my car from him. ’67 Impala, she’s beautiful.”

“I saw it at your house, it’s a nice car,” you commented.

“Yeah. I got a lot from my dad. I listen to the same music he did, I sometimes dress like he did… I have an old leather jacket of his, I wear it everywhere when it gets cold outside.”

“Why did you want to leave home if you loved your family so much? I mean, I know your dad had died, but why would you want to leave?”

“Being there reminded me of everything, good times and bad. I didn’t want that every day.”

You got the feeling Dean didn’t open up much; he seemed… upset, maybe? But not with you, just in general. He didn’t seem to want to talk about his family much more, so you turned the tv on. “You want to watch something?”

You two watched some stupid show that happened to be on. Mostly, you wanted get Dean’s mind off of his parents; it clearly made him sad. You were able to learn a lot about him just by the way he talked about them. He loved them, there was no doubt about that, but the way he spoke about his dad, it seemed like maybe he had to take care of Sam more than he let on. You didn’t get the feeling that his dad did anything bad, just that maybe he wasn’t around sometimes.

You curled up into Dean, inviting him to put his arms around you. He did as you hoped he would, and you two laid like that, both of you eventually falling asleep. 

A few hours later you woke up from hunger. It was almost eight o’clock, and you needed to make dinner. You carefully got up, noticing that Dean was still comfortably asleep. You hoped he liked enchiladas; you already had the chicken in the freezer and they were easy to put together, only needing some time in the oven once you had them made. 

Dean woke up while you were making the enchiladas and walked the short distance to the kitchen. “Why didn’t you wake me up?”

“You just looked so comfy, I couldn’t wake you.”

“What are you making?”

“Chicken enchiladas. My mom makes them like this all the time, I love them. Do you like enchiladas?” you asked.

“Love ‘em.”

“Good. I’ve also got some pie in the fridge for dessert, if you like.”

“Pie’s my favorite. Hell, I’ll eat that for dinner and dessert if you don’t feel like putting the enchiladas together.”

“Will you be disappointed if I say I want to make the enchiladas?”

Dean smiled. “No, but I’m still gonna have some pie.” He stood behind you, his arms around your waist, and his chin resting on your head. It was more difficult to make dinner like that, but you didn’t want him to move. You kept rolling enchiladas, putting them in the pan, and adding green sauce.

After you put the food in the oven, and you set the timer for 45 minutes, you turned around to face Dean. He stepped toward you, leaning down to kiss you. When he tried to pull away, you wrapped your arms around his neck, stood on your toes, and deepened the kiss, letting his tongue sweep over your bottom lip, then into your mouth. He picked you up and put you on the counter so you didn’t have to stand on your toes and so he didn’t have to lean down, and you two stayed glued to each other. You clawed at his shirt, wanting it gone. Dean got the hint, broke away, and tore off his shirt.

 _Holy fucking shit_. He was beautiful to look at. You could sit there for hours just staring at how perfect he was. The green eyes, the perfect lips, the toned chest; you just couldn’t get enough.

You attached your lips to his again, but not for long—he wanted your shirt gone too, and you didn’t argue. You broke away from the kiss just long enough for him to remove your t-shirt. You wrapped your legs around him and whispered, “Bedroom,” and he carried you to your room. He placed you on the bed carefully, kissing his way down your body. His lips felt so good on your skin; if you could stay like this forever, you would.

“These pants have to go,” Dean said, peeling the yoga pants from your body. 

You never did this so soon with anyone, but Dean… there was just a connection. So you let yourself go, just letting the feelings overwhelm you.  
_____

Over the next several days, you and Dean spent lots of time together. You spent nights at his house, and he spent nights at yours. He was able to drive again, so he drove his Impala over, and you got to see how beautiful the car actually was. On the days you had off, you and Dean spent time in bed, watching movies, baking pie—and damn, he loved pie. You went out for dinner once or twice, not at any really nice places, just at little diners in town. Sam left eventually, so you and Dean were free to do whatever you wanted, wherever you wanted in his house—and you did.

Dean’s PET scan was scheduled for a Thursday. You weren’t working, and it was weird to go into the hospital not as a doctor. You had to wait in the waiting room like everyone else. You didn’t like it; you wanted to be in there, making sure the scans looked good.

The scan took about an hour—they wanted to check everywhere to make sure the damn carcinoma didn’t metastasize before they removed it. The time passed slower that molasses; you ran out of things to do in the waiting room so you just sat there, staring at the walls.

Dean finally got out of the scan and the radiologist said that he’d send the scans to Dr. Anderson and that she’d give him a call with the results. 

Only, it wasn’t a call with the results, it was a call asking him to come in to discuss the scans. Of course, you were instantly worried, knowing it was not good for a doctor to schedule an appointment when they would normally give the results by phone.

You went with Dean to get the results; he wanted you there in case it was bad. For the second time in a week, you walked into the hospital as a loved one, not a doctor. You took the elevator up to Anderson’s office, incredibly nervous. You didn’t know why you were nervous, you weren’t the one with the damn cancer. 

You sat down in front of Anderson, her face not giving anything away.

“Mr. Winchester, your scans came back yesterday. Unfortunately, the tumor metastasized before the surgery. It is a very, very small tumor, but it is in your brain. It can grow quickly, but if we get to it quickly, then it could stop spreading.”


	3. Not Just His Doctor: Part Three

“What do you mean, ‘if we get to it quickly’? He just had spinal surgery, you can’t open his freaking head up yet!” You were in shock; you knew it was a nasty tumor, but you didn’t realize it would metastasize that quickly.

“We won’t perform surgery yet. The tumor is currently too small for that. Unfortunately, we also can’t do any radiation because it is so small and we would risk damaging surrounding brain tissue,” Anderson explained.

“So what do we do?” Dean asked.

“Right now it’s a waiting game. Every week or so you’ll have to get a scans done, and hopefully we’ll be able to see how fast the tumor is growing. Once we know, we can either do fewer scans or we can do more. But once it’s big enough to operate on, we’ll consult with Dr. Owens, and he’ll decide on a plan. He has already seen the scans, so he is aware of the situation.” Dr. Anderson paused, letting you two take in the situation. “Do you have any questions?”

“No, I don’t think so.” You hadn’t seen Dean this worried, not even when he was about to go into surgery. “Besides, Y/N can answer some questions that might pop up.”

“Oh. Yeah,” you whispered, trying to keep it together. You had only known him for a little over two weeks; he had had a different oncologist before being referred to Dr. Owens, and Anderson had only asked you to come in just before the surgery. You were still incredibly shaken, though; you had gotten to know him rather well, and the idea of not getting to know him better was scary.

“Well, then, I guess we’ll see you back in a week.”

You and Dean stood up to shake hands with Dr. Anderson, then you left. He waited until you got to the car to say anything about it. “A tumor. Again. Well, that’s just fan-freaking-tastic, isn’t it?” He looked down and breathed out, kind of like a chuckle, but he wasn’t amused.

“Dean, I’m so, so sorry.”

He looked back at you for a moment. “Yeah. I just, uh, need a minute.” Dean stood with both hands of the top of his car, looking down, taking deep breaths. When he looked back up, there were tears in his eyes. “I fucking hate this. First it was the goddamn spinal tumor. I got through that okay; it sucked, and I was worried about the surgery, but I knew it would be worse if I didn’t get it. After the surgery, when the surgeon said it was all gone, I was so relieved. A massive weight was off my shoulders. I thought that was it, no more tumor, no more cancer. But now, I have brain cancer. Fucking brain cancer, how the fuck does that happen? It wasn’t supposed to, I was supposed to be okay!”

You ran over to his side of the car and pulled him into a hug. He needed the comfort; and he was right, it wasn’t fair. He shouldn’t have had to get bad news like this once, let alone twice. But here you were, holding Dean as tears rolled down his face, him terrified of what was to come.

You backed away for a second, looking at Dean. “If you need me to, I’ll drive,” you offered.

“Thanks,” he said, handing you the keys.

You drove him home, but he didn’t speak the entire time. He stared out the window, watching the world pass by, not taking anything in. You couldn’t help but wonder what passed through his mind. You were wondering what this meant for the two of you. Would your relationship (if you could call it that after two weeks) end now? Would he push you aside? Or would he need you more? You knew that you had to do what was best for Dean, no matter what the answer was.  
_______

When you offered to stay with him for a few days, he accepted. After the first day or so, he seemed okay again, or at least, he acted like it. Based on the way he was in the hospital for his surgery, he usually pretended to be okay with big things like this, but after the way he reacted to the news, you figured he was acting on a day to day basis, putting on his “tough guy” face, not wanting to look scared. You worried about him, though. Not facing reality wasn’t healthy behavior, especially for someone already so sick. It could actually add unnecessary stress that he didn’t need right now.

You didn’t bother him about it, though. You ran errands with him when you weren’t at work, and when you got home in the evenings, you would help him make dinner—you loved being in the kitchen with him. Sometimes it didn’t even feel like he was sick. But at the end of the week, when you had to go in for an MRI, it hit you in the face again.

His tumor hadn’t grown too much, but the fact that it had even grown a bit was worrying. He couldn’t go into surgery for another week or two because of the spinal surgery several weeks ago, but everything seemed okay for now.

You found out that he had been experiencing headaches—mild, for now—when he sat down with Anderson. You tried not to say anything, knowing he didn’t need you to act like his doctor. You were there for support, nothing else. But hello, headaches? He was starting to experience symptoms, and that really worried you. Other symptoms could pop up quickly, which Anderson was saying just then.

“Do not hesitate to say anything if you have any other symptoms. You can call me, or you could even let Y/N know. She knows what the symptoms of this are, and if you aren’t sure, you can run it by her if you need to. I’m sure that’s okay with her, right?” Anderson looked at you expectantly.

“Of course. Even if you’re just worried about something, let me know. It won’t bother me.”

Dean still didn’t look concerned. “Okay,” he said. _Okay?_ Jeez, he was made of stone when it came to this.

“Good. Next week, we’ll get you another scan, okay? If it doesn’t grow too much, we can make the margin bigger next time,” Anderson promised.

The second you stepped into the hallway, you looked at Dean and demanded, “Headaches? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because you’d do this. And I didn’t want you to worry, I’m fine. I’ll be okay, alright?”

“Dean—”

“Y/N, I’m fine.” He turns around and walks toward the elevator, not waiting for you. _He’s really not concerned about this, is he?_ Dean was determined to see this through without showing any worry.

You followed him to the elevator and didn’t say another word about the tumor again. You didn’t want to get into it again; it would be useless.

The car ride was the same way. You two didn’t speak—he was silent, listening to his favorite radio station, probably trying not to think about the reality of the situation. But that was just speculation; you knew he was never going to tell you if anything was wrong, which you hated. You wished he would open up to you. Dean should know you would be understanding, you dealt with this every day. But maybe that was why he didn’t want to talk to you about it—because you would treat him like a patient. He didn’t want that look, the one that wasn’t quite pity, but it might as well be.

“Hey, I need to go home and get another few changes of clothes if I’m going to stay here any longer,” you said when you got home.

“Sure.”

This was going to be like peeling onions, one layer at a time. “Do you want me to stay?”

“Yeah, if you want.”

“Okay. I’ll be back in a few, alright?”

“Okay,” Dean responded, giving you a quick kiss before you left.

You did laundry while picking out another week’s worth of clothes and shoes, as well as grabbing some personal items you missed while you were staying at Dean’s. You also called Sam, whose number you had gotten before he left.

“Hey, Sam. How’re you?”

“I’m doing alright, what’s up?”

“Has Dean called you since you left?”

“No. Y/N, what’s going on?”

“Oh, god, he’s gonna get pissed if I tell you… I think you need to call your brother, Sam.”

“Y/N?” Sam’s voice was filled with worry.

“I can’t tell you, you know your brother. He’ll be pissed if I tell you what’s going on without asking him first. Just call him, okay?”

“Yeah. Thanks, Y/N.”

“Bye Sam.”

“Bye.”

You prepared yourself for the fact that Dean would be pretty upset with you when you got back. You knew that if Dean hadn’t called Sam, he didn’t want him to know, and he would not like that you told him. But Sam deserved to know, and you needed him to know so you could ask him for advice with getting his brother to face reality. You really liked Dean, you did—hell, you could see yourself falling for him if you stayed with him. You got lost in those eyes when he looked at you, and all you wanted was for him to hold you, whether you two talked or not. And when you did talk, he talked so passionately about whatever it was; usually family or your jobs, or just life in general. You loved being with him, but he needed to face the situation.  
________

The next month wasn’t easy. Dean was okay most of the time, except for the day after each MRI. He was too upbeat, which was almost as bad as if he were pissed off the entire time, or if he were just out of it. But the rest of the days were fine. You had practically moved in to Dean’s house; he wanted you there, worried that there would be symptoms he would need your help with. Sam knew what was going on, and was willing to come to Baltimore, but Dean refused. Dean didn’t want anyone here taking care of him that didn’t need to be.

The tumor grew almost to the point of needing surgery, but the growth was slowing down. You were encouraged by that, although his symptoms did get worse. He had bad headaches daily and his coordination wasn’t too great. That was what he hated most; he wasn’t allowed to drive, and that meant he couldn’t drive his Baby. Occasionally you drove him around in the car, but it wasn’t the same, you could tell.

Yours and Dean’s relationship was doing pretty well; sometimes you sat down and just asked each other questions, like a favorite movie or meal, or a trip you’ve always wanted to take. You enjoyed those times very much, getting to know everything about Dean that you could, and you wanted to know absolutely everything. With this tumor, you had no idea what kind of time you would have with him, so you relished all of the time you spent together that didn’t deal with his cancer.

The week of the next MRI, you and Dean wanted to go on a date to a fancy restaurant, something you hadn’t done in a long time. You wore a black dress that hugged your subtle curves, wanting to show off for Dean tonight.

His jaw dropped when you walked out of the room, as did yours; he was wearing a suit that almost made him look like James freaking Bond. It wasn’t an incredibly fancy suit, and he wasn’t wearing a tie, but damn, he should wear that thing everywhere. “Wow,” you said simultaneously.

“Y/N, you look incredible,” Dean breathed. His eyes roamed over your body, not missing a thing.

“So do you. I had no idea you could wear a suit that well. You should do it more often.”

“We should go before I rip that dress off of you,” Dean suggested, pointing toward the door.

“Or…” That was all you had to say before Dean’s hands were on you and the dress was on the floor.  
____

“Next time we’re going to dinner first,” you said, lying with Dean, your head on his bare chest.

Dean laughed, responding, “If this is the alternative, maybe not.”

As you were about to fall asleep, you heard Dean say, “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Dealing with me for the last, well, two months. You didn’t have to do it.”

You sat up in bed, grabbing a shirt on the chair next to the bed and putting it on. “Dean, I didn’t _deal_ with you. I wanted to be here for you. I wouldn’t still be here if I didn’t want to be.”

“But I’ve been an obnoxious ass a decent part of the time, and that’s unfair to you. You’re incredible—you’re so smart, and kind, and caring. I never in a million years thought you would stick around for so long. I flirted because you were beautiful, with those beautiful Y/E/C eyes, that Y/H/C hair framing your face and the way you genuinely wanted to be at work. I admired that. I wanted you to stay because I got to know how much you cared about _everything_ , and somehow I was included in that mix.”

“Dean… Yes, you’ve been an ass occasionally. That’s how you deal with things, but you also get over being an ass, and you apologize. But at the same time, anyone would be a jerk when dealing with this. It’s not easy, and believe me, I know you’re not fine like you pretend to be. I like you how you are, though. I love how you get excited about the little things, like when we get to cook together, or when I get off of work earlier than expected. I love that you don’t care that I don’t want to go out like most girls do, that I just want to sit here with you. Dean, I have loved getting to know you. When I agreed to the date, I never thought we would make it to a month, let alone two, but here we are, dealing with this damn cancer together. That’s not going to change.”

“Good.”  
_________

The MRI showed it was time for surgery. The neurosurgeon—Dr. Owens—and Anderson met to talk about a plan. You and Dean were nervous, knowing there was a small window where the tumor would be big enough for surgery without getting big enough to cause any new symptoms, bad ones, like seizures. That window, as it stood, was four weeks. Dean acted like nothing was wrong, as always, so you didn’t push it by talking too much about it. But you knew just where the tumor was located, and if something went wrong in surgery, he could have numerous issues for the rest of his life, including memory problems and trouble with movement. To be completely honest, you were terrified for him.

The surgery was scheduled two weeks from the MRI date. Sam flew to Baltimore to be there in the weeks leading to the surgery. He stayed in the house with you and Dean, making everything very crowded. But you didn’t want to leave, and neither did Dean. So you spent a decent amount of time, when you were home, talking to Sam. The moments when you and Sam were alone—which were very rare—you asked him why Dean was so guarded with his emotions.

“He’s been that way since our mom died. I think he thought he needed to be strong, especially when Dad wasn’t around, and it just became who he is. So now, he doesn’t let much show that could be conceived as vulnerable. I mean, he really seems to love you, but, if I know him, he hasn’t said anything.” You shook your head. “The way he looks at you… you can tell it’s not just a physical attraction, like it often is for him. He cares about you.”

You smiled to yourself, knowing Sam would never tell you that if he weren’t sure. “I care about him a lot, too. I… I love him. When he really talks, it’s amazing to listen to because he is so passionate about the things he cares about. It’s contagious, and I think it’s why I care so much about him.”

“I’m glad you’re here for him, Y/N.”

“Me too.”

The day Dean went into surgery, you and Sam stayed with him the entire time, throughout pre-op and right until he went into the operating room. In his room, Dean told you, “Y/N, thank you. Thank you for everything, I appreciate it.”

Confused, you asked, “Dean? What is this?”

“I love you, Y/N. And I wanted you to know, just in case.”

“Dean, that ‘case’ will not happen. Please, do not say goodbye. I will be here after surgery. I won’t just drop by this time, okay?”

He laughed, knowing exactly what you were referencing. “Good, I can’t wait.”

The doctors came into his room to roll him down. “Can we walk with him?” Sam asked.

“To a point, sure,” one doctor responded.

You held Dean’s hand as you walked with him. “Dean, I love you too,” you said as he was about to go in.

“What happened to no goodbyes?”

“I needed you to know. You know, just as the last thing you hear from me before you go under.”

“Just in case?”

Tears welled in your eyes, threatening to spill over. “Yeah. In case.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too,” you said, holding his hand as Sam talked to him. Eventually you had to let go, putting him in the hands of the surgeons.

You led Sam to the waiting room. This was not a short surgery, but you stayed the entire time. Sam told you stories about when he and Dean were younger, like the time Sam broke his arm after he jumped off of a roof dressed as Batman—after Dean jumped first, of course. Dean drove him to the ER on his handlebars. You enjoyed hearing these stories, mostly stupid shit that they had done together.

About three hours into the surgery, Dr. Owens walked into the waiting room. Fuck! “Dr. Y/L/N. Mr. Winchester. I regret having to tell you this, but Dean—”

You started to cry before he even said it. The second you saw Owens, you knew Dean was gone. Apparently, his heart couldn’t handle the surgery; it gave out and they couldn’t start it again.

Sam sat in a chair, his face in his hands. You were standing there, crying, as Owens offered you a hug. His scrubs become wet with tears as you sobbed. You hadn’t known Dean long, but you had spent so much time with him, pretty much living with him since the beginning, putting you miles ahead in your relationship.

You and Sam took your time going home, wondering how you were going to cope with seeing his belongings at the house, his beloved Impala in the driveway. Maybe you could go to your apartment—you kept it, just in case something happened with you two—but you would have to get your things from his house eventually. So you and Sam decided to go back to the house.

You walked around the living room and saw all of the pictures that helped you get to know Dean, the ones with his mom and dad, the ones where Sam was just a baby. Then his graduation picture from high school, and then Sam’s college graduation picture. That’s when you saw a few pictures of you and him. There was the time you two went to a local fair and you got someone to take a cheesy picture of you that you insisted on. That picture made you break down, and you sat on the couch, not acknowledging anything for hours. The tears rolled down your face for a while, but at some point, you didn’t have any more tears to shed. So you just laid there, trying not to think about anything.

But when you fell asleep, Dean was in your dreams. You dreamt of his touch, his warm embrace, how you loved the way he kissed you the second you got home from work. You dreamt of his eyes, the way they could practically see into your soul.

Sam jerked you awake, tears streaming down your face. “Y/N, I packed most of your things, if you want to go to your place.”

“Yeah. I need to get out of here, it’s all Dean.”  
____

The next few weeks were difficult, with the funeral and packing up his house, and trying to figure out what to do with it. Technically it was Sam’s now, but Sam didn’t need it. You suggested he keep it in case he wanted to come out there, plus it was a place to keep Dean’s things.

When Sam left, he took the Impala, driving rather than flying. You were back in your apartment, the first time you had lived there for two months. It felt strange, but you told yourself to get over it, it wasn’t like you had been together for too long.

It hurt anyway.  
_____

Several months later, you had a severely sick patient flirting with you. He looked nothing like Dean, but the situation was too familiar. Joking, he asked you for your number, and you took a deep breath. “No,” you whispered, tears welling in your eyes as you remembered what had happened the last time.


End file.
